


Weak

by inkfishie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, Grumpy Shiro, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkfishie/pseuds/inkfishie
Summary: It’s a testament to just how gone Shiro is on Keith when he finds he has not one shit left to give. Responsibilities be damned, Shiro is exactly where he wants to be.Fic for @theprojectava on Tumblr.





	Weak

**Author's Note:**

> Erm, so I know I was supposed to be working on other stuff. But I got hit so hard by a post from @theprojectava on tumblr and literally couldn't stop myself. The idea is totally hers, I just wrote it out. 
> 
> Seriously, check this Sheith fanart out. It's so beautiful. I just hope I did it justice ;_; 
> 
> https://theprojectava.tumblr.com/post/160927473503/boy-oh-boy-i-love-it-when-i-fall-for-that-no

“We should go out.”

 

It's a typical Wednesday night and that leaves Shiro in his usual position: slumped over his desk, cursing his very existence. But while it might be the norm for the middle of the week, Shiro is still having a hell of a time concentrating. His brain feels like it’s made of sludge and he’s been stuck trying to read the same paragraph for twenty minutes. On Shiro’s desk, his aeronautical engineering book taunts him. Groaning, Shiro thumps his forehead into the work-top. This has to be what hell feels like, he’s sure of it.

Keith, who sprawled out across Shiro's bed, repeats himself. "Shiro, C'mon. Let's go out."

“But it's the middle of the week.” Shiro grunts in complaint.

There's a shuffle as Keith twists around, then moments later a pillow pelts Shiro in the side of the head. It doesn't hurt, but he finds that he's annoyed all the same. Slowly, Shiro turns, angling his head in Keith’s direction. He glares with all the ire he can muster but Keith is not deterred in the slightest. Probably because Shiro is on the verge of an all-out sulk. He can feel his mouth twisting up into a childish little pout. 

“So? You’ve been trying to read that for like an hour and you haven’t even turned the page,” Keith counters, unimpressed.

Shiro, whose eyes are slowly melting out of his skull, grumbles in response.

Keith does have a point though. He _has_ been trying to read the assigned chapter for an hour now, but the words just won’t stick. Shiro sees them, knows that they are words, but can’t seem to find an empty place in his brain to put them. The random jumble of letters just aren't making sense, especially when Shiro starts to think about all he has left to do for his classes tomorrow.

Sighing, Shiro considers taking a break. He could grab a cup of coffee or something. Or take fifteen minutes to crawl in next to Keith so that they can watch some dumb videos on YouTube together. Even a piss break would be better than staring off like a zombie. He thinks about it, then sits up and stretches instead. Shiro's shoulders crack and pop as he rolls them. What he _really_ wants to do is say fuck it and sleep for twelve hours.

Shiro knows that he won’t though, not while his textbook glowers at him in supreme judgment. It doesn't feel particularly nice. Because let's face it, there's nothing worse than being judged by a fucking book. But Shiro can practically hear it shaming him and all his progeny as he presses the meat of his palms into his itchy eyes.

“Takashi,” Keith wheedles.

Shiro frowns. It's not like he _wants_ to sit here doing mindless busy work. Because he really doesn’t. Going out with Keith is the far better option here. It’s just that Shiro knows he shouldn’t. Between the reading and the written work, there’s at least another hour, if not more before he's done. And that's only for one class. Shiro still has notes left to prepare for both himself and several underclassmen he's tutoring. Not to mention the exam he still hasn’t studied for. Shiro knows that if he leaves it to the last minute that he'll stress. He likes to get things done and out of the way so that he can actually relax.

"Don't you have work to do for tomorrow?" He asks Keith, tetchy. 

Keith's reply is immediate, his tone bland. “We’re doing Sims tomorrow afternoon. I have the morning off. My stuff isn't due till Friday."

Shiro snorts at that. Figures. He glances toward the bed and realizes in doing so that he's made a bit of a tactical error. Keith is stretched out across the mattress with an easy grace, eyes fixed on his phone. His body makes a long lithe line, with one arm resting beneath his head, and the other propped up on his stomach. He has one of his legs hanging off the edge of the bed where it sways lazily. The other is kicked out at an angle and bent at the knee. Absurdly, Shiro finds himself distracted by a flash of pale skin. It peeks through a frayed hole in the thigh of Keith’s dark jeans.

“But...It’s Wednesday night.” Shiro argues, albeit pointlessly.

He already knows that he’s going to give in. It's pretty much been decided at this point. When Keith flashes a satisfied grin, Shiro resigns himself to the inevitable.

“This is a bad idea,” Shiro grumbles.

Keith simply rolls his eyes and hauls himself upright. The thick soles of his clunky, cherry red boots thump against the bed’s baseboard as he stands.  He’s smiling as he crams his phone into his pocket and draws close enough that Shiro can feel the heat of him. Keith stands there a moment, considering, and Shiro isn't sure what he is going to do. When Keith tugs at the stiff, orange collar of Shiro’s uniform, Shiro suddenly remembers that he's forgotten to change.

 

“Go take this off,” Keith says, bemused. “Then we can get out of here. I'll be sure to have you back at a reasonable hour.”

 

Shiro isn’t sure he believes that, but he knows he’s lost this fight. He'll just have to finish his reading tomorrow. Shiro thinks that if he can shuffle his gym time a bit he can sneak in a reading break. It does mean that he'll have to get up a little earlier, but it won’t be too bad. If Keith sticks to the plan and they're back by midnight Shiro will still have a solid 6 hours of sleep.

_It’s fine_. Shiro tells himself, despite the way his book glowers at him. He pushes himself upright and snatches some fresh clothes on his way to the en suite bathroom. It’s just one night and a few drinks never hurt anyone. Still, Shiro can’t help but feel a bit guilty as he tugs off his uniform and changes into jeans and a loose tank top.

When he steps out a few minutes later, Keith is waiting slumped against the wall. He glances up and offers Shiro an encouraging smile. Shiro still feels like he's a kid sneaking out on a school night and he tries to chase the feeling away as he jams his feet into his own boots. He grabs his wallet and shrugs on his own jacket and then Shiro is ready to go. More or less anyhow.

Resigned, he turns toward Keith. “Ready?” He asks.

Keith huffs out a soft, amused sound and steps close. He reaches out to fluff up Shiro’s rather wilted fringe. “You look like I’m dragging you off to your own execution,” Keith observes. His fingers drift, curling around the chain looped about Shiro’s neck. It's all eschew. Keith twists it back to rights and sets the dangling ident tags neatly against Shiro’s chest.

“I’m just tired,” Shiro says honestly. It comes out a bit sulky.

Keith continues to fiddle with Shiro’s dog tags. He’s chewing on his lower lip and his nose is scrunched up in a thoughtful little frown. Shiro knows the look, knows that it means that Keith is parsing something over and trying his best to phrase it carefully.

“You need to take a break and relax a little," Keith says finally. "You’re going to run yourself into the ground.”

“I know, I know,” Shiro admits. “But there’s just so much to do and--”

“And tonight we’re going out.” Keith interrupts smoothly.

“And tonight we are going out,” Shiro affirms, resigned.

Keith smiles. It's a victor's grin, and Shiro feels just a little affronted. It's Shiro's own damned fault though. Keith just has this way about him that is so hard to say no to. They make their way out into the hall and Shiro turns to key the lock code into the door.  He's mentally tabulating how many hours he has until his tomorrow starts as Keith coaxes him along.

  


_9 hours and 45 minutes._

 

They wind up at a club. It’s a Wednesday night so the place isn’t as crowded as it could be. Even so, the number of bodies on the floor is a little surprising to Shiro. It’s the middle of the week, don’t these people have homes? Shiro frowns and takes a sip of his beer. It’s warm which makes it taste a bit like piss. It sours Shiro's mood considerably, and glumly he realizes things aren't off to such a great start. He wonders where Keith's run off to, and glances up from his place at the bar. When he spots a familiar head of dark hair, Shiro snorts in surprise.

Keith is hovering on the edge of the dance floor, _attempting_ to dance. Attempting being the key word because it's terrible. Keith is twisting and swaying completely out of sync to the heavy thump of the music. It's that bump and grind sort of crap, better suited to the bedroom than the dance floor. It isn’t Shiro's thing at all, he prefers something more upbeat and electronic if he’s going to dance. On the floor, Keith doesn’t seem to care. He bobs and swivels his hips like he’s someone’s nerdy grandpa. It sucks, but even so, Shiro is charmed by the pokey way Keith is shuffling around. It’s _cute_.

When the track changes Keith pauses to take a sip of his own drink. He gives the new song a try, but when he catches Shiro watching him he shrugs and gives up. Dancing forgotten, Keith prowls closer to push into Shiro’s space. Situating himself along Shiro’s flank, Keith presses his hand to the small of Shiro’s back. He uses the touch as an anchor as he leans up to speak into Shiro’s ear.

“This music sucks,” Keith observes over the noise.

Shiro agrees, but he’s too distracted by Keith’s closeness to say much. He’s thinking of the new song and maybe dragging Keith out on the floor to try dancing to it the way the other couples are. He imagines sliding up behind Keith and catching him about the hips and moving rhythmically against him. He imagines Keith leaning back so that they are flush and press together teasingly. The music wouldn’t be so bad then, Shiro reasons. It’s wishful thinking though, dangerously stupid wishful thinking.

At Shiro’s back, Keith’s fingers clench minutely, digging into the muscle there. The sensation jolts Shiro from his thoughts and leaves him feeling guilty. He takes a hasty swig of his warm beer to give himself something to do. With every breath, Shiro can feel the way that Keith’s chest expands and contracts and it’s maddening. Eventually, Shiro is able to focus and divert his thoughts. He leans in closer to Keith to be heard over the thump of the music.

“Your dancing sucks,” He says plainly.

Beside him, Keith barks out a laugh. “Yeah maybe,” Keith agrees.

Taking another sip of his beer, Shiro smiles. Things are starting to feel a little less shitty now. He turns away from Keith but continues to watch his friend out of the corner of his eye. Keith is still standing closer than is strictly necessary, but now that the awkwardness has worn off, Shiro doesn't mind. He finishes off his drink slowly, trying to enjoy himself. When the bottle is empty, Keith makes a grab for it. Confused, Shiro arches a brow. Keith merely grin.

“This is lame, let’s get out of here,” Keith says. His voice is a pleasing rumble against the shell of Shiro’s ear.

It’s all the invitation Shiro needs. He nods and Keith twists around to deposit their bottles on the bar top. He slides back in against Shiro and the two of them move toward the exit. When they spill out into the cool night air and onto the street Shiro extricates himself from Keith to shake off the humidity of the club. His bangs hang limp and somewhat frizzy over his eyes so Shiro scrapes them back off his forehead. The air feels nice and he pulls in a deep breath as the two of them continue to move down the street. Idly, Shiro wonders what Keith has planned next.

It’s still early enough that they could pack it in and head home. They could stop somewhere for food and bring it back to the dorms for a late-night snack. Shiro suspects Keith has other plans though. The silence between them is indicative of the calm before the storm so to speak. Shiro isn’t surprised when Keith falls into step beside him and twines their arms together.

“There’s a bar up the street a bit,” Keith comments. “Let's go get a few drinks there and then we can head back.”

Shiro doesn’t even think to say no.

 

_8 hours._

 

The drinks are much cheaper at the bar than they were at the club. It’s packed despite it being a weeknight, and again Shiro’s sensibilities are somewhat affronted. He catches himself wondering when he's become such an old man and it takes him two seconds to realize he’s far too young to be this stressed out. The thought makes him frown so he sneaks a look at Keith, who is crammed in beside him in the corner they’ve claimed near the bar. Keith, who sees the sour look on Shiro’s face arches a curious brow.

“I’m old and boring.” Shiro laments over the tumult of conversation around them.

“You’re like two years older than me, dude,” Keith shoots back, bemused as he takes a sip from his glass. He’s drinking something dark and frothy and he licks yeasty bubbles from his lip as he sets the glass down. “Stop being so dramatic and chill for two seconds.”

Keith is right of course. Shiro can’t help getting one last quip in though. “Remember when I used to be fun? That was the best. ” He asks with a melodramatic sigh. Beside him, Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning now. So is Shiro.

“Drama-queen.” Keith teases. Then he straightens up and flags down the bartender. He orders two shots and nudges one in Shiro’s direction. “Here, this is fun. You can blame me in the morning.”

The look on Keith’s face tells Shiro that this is a challenge. It’s also a very bad idea. Shiro knows how it will go because he already knows what he is going to do before he does it. It’s a bit like being clairvoyant actually. Only not, because Shiro could just as easily say no and avoid a morning of regret compounded by bad decisions. But Shiro is only a man and he’s powerless against the playful look in Keith’s pretty blue eyes. It's a kind of a problem.

_I am so fucked_ , Shiro thinks as he raises the small glass. “Kanpai,” He declares.

Keith grins and raises his own glass. The rims clink together. “Kanpai,” he echoes

They both toss back their shots neatly. When Keith orders another round Shiro doesn’t stop him. He isn’t sure what it is they’re drinking. Just that it’s clear and burns going down. Shiro chases it with a sip of the crown and coke he’s been nursing. When Keith finishes off his own drink, he slides the empty glass across the bar and turns to pin Shiro with a speculative look. Under the neon lights, Keith is painted in hues of pink and yellow. There is a faint flush coloring his cheeks and his grin is loose and easy. Shiro balks a little, struck by the picture Keith presents, slouched as he is against the bar.

Keith has an idea, it's obvious in the way that he is looking at Shiro. There's a mischievous little quirk hiding in the corner of his mouth and his fingers are restless on the bar top. Whatever it is, this plan that Keith is cooking up, it's going to be trouble. Shiro can already tell. He doesn't care though, not now that he's warm and lax from alcohol and Keith is a reckless fire burning beside him. He's almost too bright to look at. Shiro grins stupidly.

“Spill it,” He demands.

Keith shrugs. His own smile grows wider until it’s all teeth. “Nothing,” He says. “I just had a thought, that's all.”

“You might as well just tell me. You're going to do it one way or another so there's no point in keeping it a secret.” Shiro replies.

Laughing, Keith straightens up. He rolls his shoulders then pushes closer. He's pressed up against Shiro's front as snatches at Shiro's drink.

“There a couple more bars nearby,” Keith says, eyes alight with mischief. He takes a sip of the crown and coke, then makes a face at the taste. He drains it off though, then sets the glass aside. “Think we can hit ‘em all before last call?”

Shiro thinks a moment. Or at least pretends to think a moment. To do otherwise would be an affront. Keith, of course, see's through it. He cocks his head to the side expectantly, just waiting for Shiro to signal defeat.

“I think we could probably do it,” Shiro says finally.

 Keith grins.

 

_6 hours._

 

Their next destination awaits them down the street and around the corner. It’s a local dive bar so it's less crowded. The atmosphere is still boisterous, even if the clientele is a little older. The two of them stick out like sore thumbs, but Keith is determined as he drags Shiro through the crowd and to the counter. The woman serving is old enough to be Shiro’s mother. She asks for I.D. and frowns when Keith takes it open himself to fish Shiro’s out for him. It’s in his wallet which is crammed into the back pocket of his jeans. He squirms as Keith digs in, and has the good sense to flush with embarrassment under the woman’s scrutiny. She is distinctly unimpressed. Keith, who could care less, orders for them.

They take their drinks to the back of them room and settle in at a table near a group of very loud women. Shiro is half-way through his G & T when he finds out the group is a bachelorette party. The bride to be is in her mid-thirties and is smitten from the moment she sways close enough to say hello.

She introduces herself, and her seven friends then starts gushing about how brave and selfless Shiro must be to have joined Galaxy Garrison. Her voice is loud enough that it carries even in the noisy bar. Shiro remains polite, but he’s starting to squirm under all the attention. Keith, the little shit that he is, smirks over the lip of his glass throughout the proceedings.

“But the training must be tough!” One of the women exclaims. “There must be a lot you have to learn.”

Shiro glances at Keith and realizes that all hell is about to break loose. Shiro can feel his face twisting in horror even as his stomach clenches. He reaches for Keith under the table to try and warn him off but Keith knocks Shiro’s hand away. 

“Oh, it's not too bad. It's a lot of book work mostly,” Keith replies. “Shiro’s two years ahead of me but we’re both in the pilot program. We train together when we can. You should see him spar. He’s really good at _hand-to-hand_. It’s all that muscle.”  

It sends the women into fits, and Shiro’s face flames hot. He's sure he's gone at least seven shades of red. When the women notice that he's blushing they coo and fawn.

“Oh, he's too cute!” One praises.

“What a sweetie, the girls must love you!” Another pipes in.

Shiro, mortified by all the attention, glowers at Keith. He’s not used to being the sole focus of such a loud, flirtatious group. Shiro feels a little like he’s about to be eaten alive. The comments, while mostly harmless, leave him feeling uncomfortable. When one of the women ask Shiro what he likes to wear while he works out, he contemplates kicking Keith under the table. The banter continues, and Shiro feels a little like he’s going to combust from how red his face is. Finally, Keith takes pity and intervenes. He leans in close and bumps companionably into Shiro's shoulder.

“I don’t know about anyone else but—Shiro is pretty sweet, isn’t he?” Keith says, soft and affectionate. Like he’s revealing some sort of secret truth.

Shiro feels a bit of a swooping, ticklish feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something light and airy bubbles up inside of him and Shiro ducks his head, embarrassed now for a different reason entirely. He rocks sideways, leaning into Keith.

“Punk,” Shiro says, not without warmth.

The women, who have been watching the exchange, trade knowing looks with one another. Shiro is positive that they've come to some sort of conclusion about the nature of his relationship with Keith. It bugs him a little, to be honest. He doesn’t like the idea that these strangers have decided to try and define something they don’t understand. Shiro barely understands it himself. He just knows that it’s good and that it works and that he feels a great deal for Keith.

Admitting still feels too dangerous though. But still, in the private corner of Shiro’s mind, he wonders what it would be like if this thing between them were _more_. Shiro knows he wants it. Sometimes he wants it so badly that he forgets to breathe and it hurts, hurts, _hurts._ Shiro wants this thing to evolve and grow. He wants to trace the curve of Keith’s grin with his mouth and spend lazy mornings curled together talking about nothing. He wants to go on shitty adventures and laugh until his sides hurt. That’s what Shiro wants, and he wants Keith to want it too.  

A shout from the bride pulls Shiro from his thoughts, which have taken a melancholy turn. “We should get some shots!” She declares.

Shiro is about to disagree when Keith turns and offers him an affectionate smile. “Stop thinking so hard,” Keith tells him gently. He reaches out and gives Shiro’s hand a squeeze.

Warmth bursts inside of Shiro and he tries to put his sadness aside. The shots certainly help, and after that, he feels more like himself. The conversation picks up and shifts away from Shiro and his fitness regime. The women start discussing the proposed research mission to one of Pluto’s moons that’s been all over the news lately. Shiro isn’t surprised when Keith joins in, they’ve been discussing it themselves, wondering when the Garrison will move beyond the initial planning phase.

After several more rounds, the conversation becomes less scientific. The bridal party decides to move on and the two of them wind up escorting the women up the street to another establishment. They repay the kindness by buying both Keith and himself drinks with ridiculous names. Keith is partial to the Sit on My Face, while Shiro prefers the Cowboy Cocksucker. Keith makes eyes at him as he tosses the shot back.

“Yee-haw,” Keith comments with a smirk as Shiro sets the empty glass on the counter.

Shiro nearly chokes.

Eventually, the two groups part ways. Shiro wishes the bride well as Keith tugs him away. By now Shiro is well and truly drunk and he sways on his feet as he makes his way down the street. Ahead, Keith is lazily weaving his way across the pavement, a wraith skulking cat-like between puddles of lamp-light. The ends of Keith’s coat, which he’s looped about his middle, swing out behind him like trailing wings. It's a bit otherworldly Shiro thinks as he watches. He’s utterly beguiled. When Keith turns abruptly he grins back at Shiro.

“Oh, you Garrison boys, so tall and handsome.” Keith teases, voice pushed up an octave.

Shiro rolls his eyes but laughs as he approaches. He slings an arm over Keith’s shoulder and pulls his friend close. “Clearly you missed the tall memo, babe.”

Playfully, Keith knocks his elbow into Shiro’s ribs. “Jerk, at least I'm not as short as Holt,” He says with a laugh. Then, before Shiro can reply Keith adds: “’M hungry, let's go find some food.”

There's still time for one more bar if they're quick, but Shiro lets Keith lead the way. They turn toward the main stretch still wrapped around one another.

  


_4.5 hours._ (Not that Shiro much cares at this point.)

 

They find a late-night pizza place just before the bars start to let out. The lights inside are harsh after the soft yellow sodium lights on the street. Shiro squints as he tries to fit himself into the tiny, plastic chair at their two-person table. Across the way, Keith is devouring a greasy slice of pizza. It looks equal parts disgusting and delicious but Shiro hasn’t quite worked himself up enough to get a slice. He keeps eyeing the shapeless mass of melted cheese wondering if it’s real or if it’s processed.

Eventually Keith grunts and holds the slice out for Shiro.  “Have some. You know you want it.”

Shiro, having a vague thought about dying from grease and dairy overload, smiles despite himself. “I really, really don’t.” The words feel clumsy in his mouth, he pushes them out around his fatuous, wide-mouthed grin.

Keith continues to wheedle. “Yes, you do. I totally know.” He says. He leans across the table, holding the slice up. He’s close enough that had Shiro wanted, he could lean in and take a bite.

“Oh yeah? How do you figure?” Shiro counters, and feels instantly as though he's backed himself into a corner. Keith's answering smirk is far too dangerous.

“Oh please, Takashi,” Keith says all confidence, despite the way his words slur together. “You totally want a piece of this. It’s written all over your face.”

Briefly, something twists inside of Shiro. He goes hot all over and feels a little like he’s been punched in the gut. The sound he makes is soft and startled and slips out by complete accident. Keith’s eyes are sharp despite the muzziness of intoxication. His expression becomes searching and speculative. _Fuck_ , Shiro thinks, panicking a little. This _can’t_ be about the damned pizza.

Shiro makes it about the pizza by lurching forward to take a bite. His lips brush against Keith’s fingers and the look on Keith’s face softens until it’s smug and satisfied. He sets the slice down on the plate and pushes it in Shiro’s direction.

“I’m going to get another slice or two,” Keith says. “You eat that one.”

The plastic chair shrieks against the tiled floor as Keith stands. He fumbles a moment, digging for his wallet. Once he has it, Keith wends his way across the room to the counter. Shiro watches Keith go and drags the abandoned plate closer. Briefly, he wonders how his life has spiraled so far out of control. Shiro isn’t so much of an idiot that he doesn’t know that it has a lot to do with a certain cadet by the name of Keith Kogane.

Shiro eats the damned pizza.

 

_3 hours._

 

Trying to find a ride back to base turns out to be problematic. With the evening crowds dispersing, finding a cab is proving to be difficult. The shuttle that runs to and from Garrison has long since made its final trip so unless Shiro finds something they are going to be stuck for the night. Shiro isn’t too familiar with the motels in the area, but the very thought makes him cringe. For some reason, his drunk brain keeps catching on visions of chintzy 70’s decor and bedsheets that are covered in god-knows-what.

Shiro shakes the thought off when Keith finally manages to find the two of them a ride. Tumbling into the backseat of a cab, Shiro settles in. Keith, wanting to be close, bullies his way under Shiro’s arm to slump against his chest. It’s comfortable, and after a few minutes, Shiro gives to the urge to press his thumb into the base of Keith’s neck. Keith grunts, pleased by the touch. He shifts a little, bending his neck forward to give Shiro more access. For a second Shiro is distracted by the messy tangle of Keith’s fine, dark hair. On impulse, he gently tugs the band that has been keeping Keith's hair secured at the base of his skull free.

Outside the street lights and buildings give way to desert. The cab turns onto the highway, headed in the direction of the Garrison. They’re halfway there when Keith makes a sleepy little sound and presses back into Shiro.

“Takashi,” He says, lazy and drunk. “It’s past curfew. Like, _way_ past curfew.”

Shiro grunts in affirmation. He’s not sure why it’s such a big deal. It doesn’t feel like it should be a big deal. “So?” he replies.

Against him, Keith sniggers out a laugh. He turns, smiling up Shiro. “So? You planning on sneaking through the checkpoint?”

Checkpoint? Oh--“ _Shit_ ,” Shiro says, the realization dawning on him.

Keith shakes with laughter as Shiro tries to puzzle out just what the hell they are going to do. There is no way that they are going to get through gate security. Not this late, and certainly not this drunk. Honestly, it’s a good thing they are in the upper-classmen dorms instead of the freshman barracks. Freshmen are required to sign in and out during the school week. It makes it much harder for them to get into trouble. But even with the advantage, they've still got a problem.

_Fucketty fucking shit._

“Keith!” Shiro groans, equal parts annoyed and amused. “You said we’d be back at a decent hour! This is _not_ a decent hour.”

Keith continues to laugh. As if the situation were the funniest thing in the damned world. Shiro gives Keith a gentle shove, which earns him an elbow in the ribs. Shiro counters by jamming his fingers into Keith’s side and tickling him. Keith yelps and it devolves a playful fight. Shiro, who has the advantage of height in the confined space, has Keith’s head in an armlock when the cabbie barks at the pair of them.

“Knock it off back there!”

There is a brief tussle as the two of them separate. Shiro, sheepish and apologetic, sits back in his seat primly. Keith, however, leans forward to talk to the man.

“Hey, can you turn off at the next exit instead?” Keith asks as he fixes his hair. The cabbie eyes him, but nods. Keith continues. “Head out toward old route 19, we’ll head out there instead.”

The cabbie pulls off of the highway and does as Keith directs. They drive through a small town and turn onto a rural route. Keith continues to give the driver directions, and Shiro is impressed that Keith is able to do so while so intoxicated. Shiro literally has no idea where they are headed until they pull onto a side road, and he spies a rusty, wire fence rising out of the sand. Ah. The shack. The two of them had discovered it earlier that year while out on an excursion. Approaching from the actual road is much different than coming at it through the sand on a hover-bike, Shiro notes.

“Here is cool,” Keith tells the cabbie. He pulls out his wallet to pay the man as the car rolls to a stop.

The driver seems to be glad to be rid of them and pulls off into the fading night as soon as Keith pushes Shiro out of the car. They spill out into the cool morning and watch as the taillights fade in the distance. As soon as the lights disappear around the bend in the road, Keith lets out an amused snort.

“What an ass,” Keith says. Then he steps to the side of the road and turns around. “Hang on, I gotta piss.”

Shiro laughs. The segue is so abrupt and cavalier that it's funny. He’s still sniggering when Keith finishes up and moves in close. He snatches at Shiro’s hand, lacing their fingers together. The small house is a dark blot in distance, and Keith pulls Shiro toward it at an easy pace.

“Move along, Cadet.” He chides, tone light and teasing.

“Ugh, gross you didn’t wash your hands.” Shiro returns, wrinkling his nose a bit. He doesn’t actually care but it seems like the thing to say.

Keith smirks, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream. “You just touched my dick through osmosis.” He points out. His look is mischievous as he says it as if he’s angling to get a rise out of Shiro.

Shiro tries to take it in stride, tries to make it a joke, but he can feel his face go a little hot as he replies. “Oh, great.” He tells Keith, aiming to keep his tone bland. He’s not sure how well it works. “I always wanted to touch your dick. I’ll check that off my Christmas list.”

Keith, at Shiro’s side, misses a step. They bump together awkwardly, and when Shiro moves his hand to catch Keith by the elbow, Keith makes an embarrassed little noise. Shiro watches him, curious. When Keith glances up, his look is a soft and even a bit shy. He seems to have been taken off-guard by Shiro’s comment. It’s the first time all night.

“Anyway,” Shiro goes on, tone gentle as he tries to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “I don’t think that’s osmosis works anyhow.”

Keith smiles a little and threads their fingers back together. Something lovely and exultant lodges beneath Shiro's breastbone. It tickles and sparks a feels like stars exploding across the sky. Shiro grins as they continue to move toward their destination.

 

_1 hour, 35 minutes._

 

Somehow the walk takes longer than it should. The road isn't too far from the shack but Shiro knows that they are moving slowly. Time is stretching out in the way that it does when fuzzy from intoxication. When they finally get down the long, dirt drive Shiro is feeling slightly more clear-headed. Though he does nearly drag Keith down as they stumble up the steps of the porch. Instead, the momentum causes Shiro to bounce into the wall, and he pulls Keith with him. They stay like that a moment, comfortable and close just laughing at one another. Finally, Keith extricates himself to pull a key from the snug pocket of his jeans.

“You planned this,” Shiro realizes, amused.

At the door, Keith shrugs with a smile. “I might’ve.”

It’s a testament to just how gone Shiro is on Keith when he finds he has not one shit left to give. Responsibilities be damned, Shiro is exactly where he wants to be. Keith wrestles with the lock and when it opens they tumble into the narrow hallway. In the dark, Shiro crowds Keith up against the wall and bends so their faces hover close together. Keith’s breath, warm and somewhat rapid, fans against Shiro’s face and neck.

“You planned this,” Shiro says again, though this time he’s surprised by how rough and breathless he sounds.

“Only a little. You needed to blow off some steam.” Keith admits. His tone is off, stilted and cautious. His gaze keeps sliding away and then back again as if he’s unsure of himself.

Shiro finds it more enticing than he probably should so he reaches out to swipe the pad of his thumb across the warmth of Keith’s slightly chapped lower lip. Keith hums out a soft, confused sound, as if he maybe expected this, but is surprised that it’s actually happening. To be honest, Shiro is a little surprised himself. Something about being pressed together in the dark of the hallway is making him bold. It was only a matter time anyway, Shiro thinks. They were bound to crash into one another eventually, and Shiro is tired of waiting.

And Shiro _knows_ he’s going to crash and that it’ll be hard and unrelenting. Like the force of an exploding star. There’s nothing to stop it, nothing Shiro can or will do to stop it. He's far too gone for that now and the epiphany has him breathing out a curse. He slides his hand away from Keith’s mouth and his fingers drift to hover uncertainly at the base of Keith’s throat. He bends forward, leaning into Keith’s temple.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, soft and helpless. He isn’t sure how to proceed though, and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

Keith is stiff and unmoving against the wall. Like he’s afraid that he’ll spook Shiro if he moves too fast. Shiro pulls in a slow breath, willing himself to relax. His heart pounds against his rib cage and Shiro can hear the rush of it in his ears over the swift rasp of Keith’s breathing. It’s loud and a bit overwhelming and does nothing for the way the world is spinning.

They stand there for a long while, breathing heavily in the dark. When some of the tension finally bleeds away, Keith speaks up. “Takashi, you’re getting too heavy,” He says quietly. His fingers are digging into Shiro's sides, pressing little points of heat into Shiro's skin. “I’m too drunk to stand in the hall all night. Futon, now.”

Reluctantly Shiro steps back, fully expecting Keith to put some distance between the two of them. Instead, Keith tugs Shiro along by the arm. Aided by the flashlight on Keith’s phone, they make their way down the tiny hall and into the main room of the shack. It isn’t fancy by any means, but in the months since they had discovered the place they’ve made it their own. Keith moves away briefly, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he searches for something.

A string of multi-colored fairy lights throw the room into sudden illumination and the effect is quite pretty. It makes the room feel warm and close. Keith, lit with shades of violet and red seems almost strange and almost alien. He smiles at Shiro from across the room, and Shiro finds himself smiling back. The moment holds, stretching out for some minutes. After a while, Keith’s smile widens and he begins to laugh. It’s soft and lovely and Shiro realizes that he’s been staring. Embarrassed, Shiro laughs as well. He scrubs a hand up through the back of his cropped hair in a in a small, nervous gesture.

“You’re such a dork,” Keith says affectionately as he moves toward the futon that dominates the room.

Once he’s close enough Keith unloops his jacket from around his waist and tosses it aside. His phone he places on an overturned milk crate. Then Keith flops gracelessly back on the futon, arms thrown wide. His legs dangle over the side as he struggles to toe off his clunky boots.

“Probably,” Shiro agrees. He hesitates a moment, then moves toward the futon as well. “But you like me anyway.”

On the lumpy cushion, Keith sits up, balancing his weight on his elbows. He looks uncertain as he eyes Shiro somewhat pensively. Even under the warm coloring of the lights, Shiro can tell that Keith's gone a little flush. Keith’s reluctance lasts the space of a few more seconds, then he hauls himself up into a sitting position.

“I do,” Keith admits, then nibbles at his lower lip. “Like you, I mean. _A lot_.” He says it carefully as if he’s testing Shiro’s reaction.

Shiro, in the midst of wrestling his own boots off, stumbles and nearly goes over. He’s not sure what his own face is doing, only that he’s suddenly hot from the tips of his ears right down to his collar bone. His mouth is also doing something funny and fish-like. It can’t be cute, not in the slightest. When Shiro looks up, Keith is trying not to laugh at his expense.

“C’mere, you big nerd,” Keith says and he sounds so _happy_.

Shiro goes. He shrugs off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor as he moves toward the futon. He drops down onto the cushion and almost immediately is pulled backward into Keith's demanding arms. Shiro sprawls out over the thick cushion and blinks up at the fairy-lights. For a second the colors whirl and blur, but then Keith comes into view, his face looming close. He smiles and slides closer, anchoring himself with a palm pressed to Shiro’s chest.

There’s a slippery, buzzing tension thrumming through Shiro’s body. The muscles in his stomach clench reflexively as he stares up at Keith. Shiro knows he’s utterly besotted, captivated by the way the lights play off Keith’s dark hair and flush skin. The look on Keith’s face is achingly open and affectionate and Shiro can’t stop himself from reaching out to skate his clumsy fingers over the elegant curve of Keith’s ear.

“Hey,” Shiro greets, thick and vulnerable.

Keith’s mouth quirks into a small, somewhat shy smile. “Hey,” He replies.

“I really, really want to kiss you,” Shiro confesses, pulse pounding in his ears.

Keith’s smile widens. He’s practically beaming as he leans in close. “Yeah?” He asks. His breath is a warm puff across Shiro’s mouth. “I guess it’s a good thing I really, really want to kiss you too.”

Shiro groans at that, low and defenseless. He isn’t sure who closes the scant space between them. Only that he slides his hand back to tangle it in Keith’s hair and then they are kissing. Keith is warm and willing and tastes like the beer he’d been drinking hours ago. It doesn’t bother Shiro as much as it probably should. He angles his head, leaning up into Keith and the kiss deepens. _Inevitable_ , Shiro thinks as Keith groans into his mouth. He wonders if he’s going to survive the fallout of this supernova. He wonders if he even wants to.

Above him, Keith breaks away. It’s only long enough so that he can swing a leg up and over and settle himself atop Shiro. Their legs twist together and when Keith leans back in, Shiro hauls him close. He nips at Keith’s lips then claims them as his own and finds no resistance. Keith makes a startled, needy little noise and it sets Shiro’s skin on fire. Shiro groans, long and loud. He plants his palms on Keith’s hips and rolls instinctively up into the weight of Keith’s body. It drags a curse from Keith, who twists away from Shiro’s mouth to pant into his neck.

“Fuck, Takashi,” Keith whines. He rolls into Shiro, their groins bumping together.

Shiro reaches up, cupping the base of Keith’s skull with his hand. He reels Keith back in, gentle as he presses fleeting, teasing kisses along Keith’s jaw. Shiro can feel where Keith is starting to get aroused, can feel it in the way Keith rolls his hips slow and sinuous. It pushes another groan from Shiro and he angles toward Keith’s mouth again to bully his way inside.

Keith sighs into the kiss and twists his hips again. It feels good. Good enough so that when Keith’s hand drifts down Shiro’s side to hover uncertainly at the waistband of his jeans, Shiro doesn’t think much of it at first. When Keith gives the fabric a curious little tug, Shiro eases away from where he’s been suckling on Keith’s lower lip.

“We don’t have to--” Shiro begins, distracted by the wet line Keith is kissing and nipping into his jaw. “We can just--”

Keith hums against Shiro’s skin. He licks his way up Shiro’s neck then latches onto the lobe of Shiro’s ear and _sucks_. Shiro curses loudly, skin erupting in goose-flesh. A shiver wracks his body and he snatches Keith about the middle and hauls him sideways. Keith tumbles into the futon, flush and wide-eyed. Shiro doesn’t give him the chance to recover, however, and slots in against Keith’s body, rolling him over onto his back.

It’s a bit of a graceless tumble, but once they’ve settled Shiro fits himself into the cradle of Keith’s hips. His height is an advantage here so Shiro uses it to slide his arms up under Keith’s to bracket him in. Keith shifts, lifting his arms to grab Shiro around the shoulder. He cants a leg out to accommodate the bulk of Shiro’s person. They’re closer now. Close enough that Shiro could count Keith’s eyelashes if he wanted. He rolls his hips instead, groaning when Keith drags him into a sloppy kiss. It’s good. It’s _really_ good.

When they part, Shiro trails a line of kisses along Keith’s jaw and presses his nose into the place just behind Keith’s ear.

“Keith, baby, is this what you want?” Shiro asks, angling his body down into Keith’s. He rolls his hips smoothly and it pushes a groan from the both of them.

“Hnngg, Yes, just— _Fuck_ ,”  Keith says as he squirms against Shiro. He’s flustered and needy and it’s absolutely adorable. Shiro grins as Keith tries again. “Yeah, it’s-- I’m cool. This is cool. I just want-- Just kiss me. _Please_. ”

Shiro can work with that. He smiles and presses a sweet little kiss to Keith’s mouth. “As long as you promise to respect me in the morning.” He says.

Keith rolls his eyes but doesn’t get the chance to respond. Shiro claims his mouth, bold and decisive. Keith hums instead, pleased. He shifts, angling his head to deepen the kiss, and Shiro obliges. Keith starts moving again, lazy and sinuous. It sparks the nerve-centers in Shiro’s brain, leaving his body tingling with pleasure. It feels amazing, unhurried and so very hot. Shiro can’t think beyond the wet slide of their mouths and the way Keith is grinding up into him. He palms at Keith’s flank and gives a pointed roll of his hips. It punches a breath from Keith and he breaks away shivering.

Keith doesn’t go far, he presses his lips into Shiro’s chin and reaches down to fumble with the fastenings on Shiro’s jeans. When the angle proves all wrong, Shiro sits back to do the work for him. Shiro no sooner has the fly undone before Keith hauls him back in, impatient. Heat pools low in the pit of Shiro’s stomach as Keith’s greedy fingers slide the fabric down just far enough so that it bunches around Shiro’s thighs. Keith’s own clothing is in a similar state and Shiro pushes Keith’s shirt up and out of the way so that they are skin to skin.

“Takashi,” Keith gasps, high and tremulous.

Shiro pushes down into Keith, rutting smoothly against him. A lick of heat curls up Shiro’s spine and he shivers at the feel of Keith hot, hard cock dragging against his own. _Christ_ , Shiro feels wrecked and they’ve barely done a thing. He wants to touch, he wants to map the warmth of Keith’s naked skin beneath his fingers. He wants to do everything he’s ever thought about in the privacy of his own bed all at once. Instead, Shiro rocks forward, searching blindly for Keith’s mouth. When he finds it, he goads Keith into an artless, messy kiss. Keith surges up into it, fingers clutching desperately at Shiro’s shoulders.

It builds steadily, the heat in Shiro’s groin. Between them, Keith is leaking a sticky trail across Shiro’s abdomen. His own cock is in much the same state. Shiro wants to lean back, to take the both of them in hand and get off that way, but he can’t concentrate. Not when all he can think about is the way Keith is moving against him, desperate and gorgeous. Keith’s shivering now, spasmodic as he clutches at Shiro. He whines into Shiro’s mouth and the muscles in his stomach clench. Keith spills out between them, warm and wet. He trembles with the after-shock.

Shiro, still chasing his own completion, continues to move. Beneath him, Keith is making a soft, helpless sort of sound. His eyes are pinched shut and he’s panting out brokenly as his over-stimulated cock continues to drag along Shiro’s skin. It’s _hot_ , and a surge of arousal kicks Shiro square in the chest. He groans, pushing his lips into Keith’s neck to kiss and suckle the spot. Seconds later Shiro’s muscles clench. Heat flares out, leaving his skin buzzing. He gasps out a garbled curse and rides the sensation out. When it becomes too much, Shiro shivers and slumps down atop Keith, boneless and panting.

“Well…Shit.” Shiro observes a bit sheepishly, once his brain has caught up with his body.

Keith, whose lips are tracing the curve of Shiro’s ear, laughs. It has Shiro laughing as well because really, it is a bit funny. If someone had told him hours ago that he’d end his night like this, Shiro would have thought they were crazy. He feels a little crazy as it is. And, a little like he’s just gotten everything he’s ever wanted. It’s a good feeling, a _really_ good feeling. It has Shiro grinning as he rolls off of Keith and on to his side. He takes a second to haul his jeans up, then he props himself up onto his elbow and looks down at Keith.

He makes quite the picture. Flush and heavy-lidded, Keith is biting at his somewhat puffy lower lip. He’s made an attempt to fix his clothing, but his shirt is still rucked up and Shiro can see where his skin glistens with moisture. It’s distracting and gorgeous. Keith smiles as he reaches up to brush Shiro’s damp bangs aside.

“I like you like this,” Keith says. His tone is warm and admiring.

“Like what?” Shiro teases. He feels a little self-conscious in the wake of Keith’s remark. “Drunk, and sweaty and covered in spunk?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “No, you ass. Relaxed. Smiley. Too fucking beautiful for words.”

The sound Shiro makes in reply is embarrassing and completely beyond his control. It’s high-pitched, somewhere between a startled gasp and a whine. It has him rolling onto his back to cover his face because he’s hot all over and feels suddenly shivery and constricted. In Shiro’s chest, his heart thumps wildly. He stays like that a minute. Then, when he’s able to master himself he rolls heavily into Keith’s space. He presses his face into Keith’s neck, and holds tight, trying to still the cagey rhythm in his chest. Shiro knows he’s done for. Utterly and entirely. He feels like the rug has been swept up from underneath him. He’s so stupidly in love

“You big softie,” Keith teases. He wraps his arms around Shiro’s bulk and his fingers start scraping into Shiro’s hair.

“Shut up,” Shiro pleads, without any heat. “I was totally fine before you came along and ruined me.”

“Me? What did I do?” Keith says with an amused sort.

Shiro squeezes Keith tighter. “Everything.” He pronounces. “You with your stupidly gorgeous smile and your laugh and your going out in the middle of the week.”

“Maybe you should learn to stay away from boys like me then.” Keith shoots back. His mouth is curled into a satisfied grin.

Shiro laughs, low and soft and maybe just a little hysterical. “Yeah, probably.” He agrees finally. “But I just can’t say no to boys like you. You make me so damned _weak_.”

“In that case,” Keith says as he arches a brow. “Go find some tissues or something. You made a mess.”

“You made that mess too!” Shiro sputters, indignant. “What about me?”

Keith stares silently and Shiro knows he’s defeated. Grunting, he hauls himself off the futon. It’s a bit of a scramble, his limbs are heavy and lax and his head is still swimming with alcohol and endorphins.

“I hate you so much. You can’t just take advantage of me like that.”  Shiro complains, pouting as he makes is way toward the bathroom.

“You do not,” Keith calls after him. “You love me, admit it.”

Shiro, pausing by the bathroom door turns around with a grin. He feels light and slippery in his own skin. “You’re right.” He says. “I do love you.”

On the futon Keith stills. His face goes red and he makes a strangled noise as he throws an arm over his eyes. “Ugh you—You can’t just— Just go already you nerd.”

Seconds later a pillow pelts Shiro in the head. Shiro grins.

 

_0 hours_

 


End file.
